


Perfection

by Swanny_Writer



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Happy ending though!, I actually have no idea how to tag this mess, I'm Sorry, It's not really angst. just not very happy, M/M, Muse!Junhui, Nothing actually happens. It's all super vague, References to Insecurities & Self-Doubts, Sculptor!Wonwoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 17:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15845664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swanny_Writer/pseuds/Swanny_Writer
Summary: Wonwoo searches forPerfection, and he finds Jun.





	Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> Hi... 
> 
> So I wrote a thing, which wasn't supposed to be anything other than my usual ramblings on twitter. But alas, it went over the 120 character limit ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ It's nothing like my other fics, so please don't have any expectations (ironic for a fic called perfection XD oh wellz)
> 
> Anyway, it was _largely_ inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/71717_12/status/1034815834621792256) beautiful fanart, along with the [VCR](https://twitter.com/Swanny_Writer/status/1035260190675763200) during Diamond Edge concert last year. 
> 
> I wrote it yesterday, but the moodboard took me ages, hence why I'm posting it now. Which I find amusing in the midst of Yanan showering Jun with compliments and calling him the standard of perfection (ㅅ´ ˘ `)
> 
> -

 

 

Renowned sculptor Jeon Wonwoo struggles with capturing the theme of his latest collection: _Perfection_. His tiresome mornings are spent searching for the impossible, while his sleepless nights are filled with frustration and anger as he creates pieces that prove to be nothing but mediocre in the light of day.

No reference is good enough. No model is good enough.

Until Wen Junhui, an unknown dancer and musician is introduced to him.

Just one look, and he knows.

Wonwoo has found his muse.

 

As time passes, more and more of Junhui’s features are immortalized in stone for the world to admire and gaze upon. The sculptor’s talent knows no bound, producing masterpieces with the ease of a single breath. He wants everyone to see, for everyone to know, what perfection is.

Junhui is overwhelmed.

But like a moth to a flame, he’s powerless, unable to resist the pull that Wonwoo has over his heart. He follows and tumbles, protected only by the hope that the sculptor will be there to catch him. Catch him before he, too, shatters like the many statues the artist had created and destroyed.

“Beautiful,” Wonwoo whispers to him, skillful fingertips tracing over his skin, soft lips molded against his. “Every single inch of you is _perfection._ ”

And Junhui believes. He believes that Wonwoo deserves nothing less. He believes that to be worthy of his caresses, his affection, his love, Junhui must be perfect.

So he strives for it.

He strives to become what Wonwoo wants, what Wonwoo _needs_. He’ll do anything. He’ll do _everything_.

But even Perfection has a price, and Junhui isn’t certain he’s capable of paying the lavish sum for much longer. The delicate golden crown Wonwoo bestowed upon him has grown heavier every time Junhui looks into the mirror. He’s tired, but he endures. He must.

 

“You look so pale, love.” Wonwoo crosses the studio and crouches by the sofa where Junhui has lounged. He runs the back of his knuckles over his muse’s cheekbones, and the boy smiles faintly.

“Am I not always pale?” Junhui asks, waving toward the dozens or so faces surrounding them. The plaster and marble look impeccable, as expected from such a prodigious artist.

Wonwoo doesn’t laugh like Junhui hoped, though. There’s no sign of the adorable scrunch around his nose. He frowns instead, gaze distant.

He sends Junhui home early that day, and tells him not to wait on him for dinner.

Junhui doesn’t understand what he did wrong.

 

“You’re as cold as ice!” Wonwoo chides him at the next session. His eyes are sharp and angry, but his touch is gentle as he presses his hands over Junhui’s cheeks.

The warmth is delightful, and he leans into the touch, heavy eyelids shutting in bliss. Wonwoo is scolding him for not wearing a jacket, ushering him inside and gathering all the blankets laying around to drape over him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into the sculptor’s chest, nuzzling against his shoulder and inhaling the familiar scent.

If Junhui weren’t so exhausted, he’d tell him he forgot his jacket because dance practice took longer than usual, and he didn’t want to make Wonwoo wait. So he ran out into the cold without thinking.

Still, he doesn’t understand why Wonwoo is so angry. Aren’t all the other perfect Junhuis he pours so much time and love into just as cold as the Junhui in his arms now?

“You’re not one of my statues, Junnie!” Wonwoo snaps. “Since when have you been thinking like this?”

He flinches and curls into a ball at the end of the sofa, pulling the blankets with him to hide under. All he hears through the haze in his mind is _“You’re no longer perfect to me.”_

The golden crown is slipping, and so is he.

 

Junhui is terrified when he enters the studio and finds it empty.

Empty of Wonwoo, empty of the perfect copies of himself.

The sculptor, along with his creations, have disappeared. The shelves are vacant, the podiums are bare, and the oppressing free space closes in on him. There’s nothing left.

Nothing but pieces of plaster scattered and hidden in the corners and under furniture. Left behind and forgotten.

The scene is familiar, Junhui realizes, because it’s the same one that greeted him the first time he stepped foot into the studio. Back then, those shards had belonged to projects that Wonwoo had deemed inadequate, flawed. _Imperfect._

Now these broken pieces are of Junhui.

He senses the fall before he feels the impact on his knees.

It hurts. It hurts, but it’s nothing compared to the freezing pain that radiates from his chest. He can’t breathe.

“Kitten? What are you doing sitting on the floor?”

All the air rushes into his lungs as he gasps out, “Wonwoo.”

The sculptor is frowning again, but he’s not angry. He pulls Junhui to his feet, gaze traveling along his face and body. Warm hands cradle his face.

“Why are you crying?”

Junhui is surprised by the statement, ready to rebuke it until Wonwoo wipes his thumbs under his muse’s eyes and they come out wet.

“Where…?”

“I got rid of them.”

Doe eyes widen in shock. “But why? They’re perfect!”

Wonwoo’s smile is fond as he gazes tenderly at the boy in his arms. “No, they’re not.”

Confusion mars Junhui’s features as he looks at the sculptor. Wonwoo leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Perfection is how you think of others before yourself,” he whispers, moving lower to do the same over Junhui’s eyes. “Perfection is how you view the world with child-like wonders.”

He takes a moment to admire Junhui’s rosy cheeks, running the back of his hand over them.

“Perfection is your smile,” he breathes the words against his muse’s full lips, licking over the seam and deepening the kiss when Junhui gasps. He strokes his nose along the boy’s jawline, eliciting a soft giggle. “Perfection is your laugh.”

“Wonwoo.” Junhui loops his fingers through the sculptor’s jacket, too shy to look at him directly.

“I’m sorry for not noticing sooner.” He kisses him again, longer, sweeter. “I was too obsessed with my attempt to preserve your every attribute into stone, I neglected you.”

Junhui shakes his head, burrowing against the crook of Wonwoo’s neck. “I wanted to be good enough for you, to live up to your expectations, for you not to regret choosing me. I wanted to help you.”

Wonwoo lets out a sigh, arms tightening around him. “Then take care of yourself. Be the healthy and happy boy I fell in love with.”

Smiling against his neck, Junhui presses a kiss against his pulse point. “Even if he’ll never be as perfect as your sculptures?”

Wonwoo chuckles softly, breath warm against his temple. “I’m no sorcerer, Junnie. I can’t create something that’s not already there. You’re my muse; I merely recreated what I see everyday with you by my side.”

The blush intensifies and spreads through his whole body, melting away the last shards of doubts and insecurities. Junhui smiles wider, finger clinging to the sculptor’s shirt to bring them even closer.

“I love you, Wonwon.”

“I love you, too, Junnie.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you took the time to read this junk, thank you very much (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝). Talk about writing something on a whim. If i were a more capable writer, I'd actually expand it into a full fic, but this is so out of my comfort zone, I'll just pretend it doesn't exist...
> 
> I'll be back with the normal stuff on Tuesday hehe 
> 
> Have a wonderful end of the week! ( ⸝⸝•ᴗ•⸝⸝ )੭⁾⁾  
> xoxoxo


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